


Take it Slow on the Reconstructing

by gustin_puckerman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Epic Bromance, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Movie(s), Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:52:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gustin_puckerman/pseuds/gustin_puckerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tumblr prompt fill. Clint gives a pep talk to Captain America. Post-Avengers, Pre-CA: The Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take it Slow on the Reconstructing

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Totally off-the-wall prompt thing, but perhaps Clint and Steve bonding over...I dunno, something? I enjoy them as bros_. 
> 
> I enjoy them as bros too.

 

The Quinjet shook mercilessly as the lightning storm outside raged on and Steve tried to keep whatever’s left of his breakfast right where it should be, pressing one steady hand over his rumbling stomach. From the corner of his eyes, two sulking agents hunched together in the far corner across from him, shooting him glares every once in a while, and making the tension in the atmosphere heavier than it was a second ago.

Steve sighed, suddenly fiddling with the red-white open stitches of his uniform with his gloved fingers.

"Hey, Cap!" A new voice called over a thunderous roar as the lightning splits the sky, and Steve looked up only to realise that Hawkeye, _Barton_ , was calling him from the pilot’s seat. Naturally, his golden eyebrows shot up, wondering if he’d heard it correctly. “Hey,” the archer grinned from the reflection of his that Steve could see, “Come on. Join me.”

The Quinjet was taken to a higher level (most likely to avoid the storm) while Steve fumbled with the belts, before finally staggeringly walking himself to the co-pilot’s seat that was empty. 

"How’re you holding up?" The archer grinned again, finding them a stable position high up in the sky, and leaning back against his chair once the sound of the thunder lessened from all around them. 

Steve gave him a look.

"Wanna talk about it?"

He makes some guttural noises that doesn't exactly sound like an appropriate response, but he figures that's all he could muster on the moment.

Barton only clicked his tongue, glancing once towards the clouds now passing below; _it looks beautiful_ , Steve thought briefly, distractingly, while the archer curved them towards the right, setting a new coordinates to their destination. “It’s not your fault, you know." He surprisingly starts, much to Steve's dismay, "Things like that happen. He’s going to be okay.”

"He was—" Steve hesitated, looking down at his hands and absently having it curled into fists; the strangled cry of the man repeated itself in his head on a sickening memory loop, and Steve bit his bottom lips to remind himself that this was not the place he should be taking all of his… _frustrations_ out; not right here, at least. “He was _injured_ and I didn’t—”

"He was going against the order. You were trying to stop him."

"And I got him injured."

“ _He_ got himself injured,” Barton called out, serious and firm, deepening the lines that was visible across his face. “You saved the kid’s ass. Trust me, if he was all by himself, they’d have his head by the time any of us would’ve gotten to him.”

Steve nearly winced at the imagery of that, gently squeezing on his torso to stop himself from vomiting. (He doesn’t vomit a lot, not since the super serum, but he doesn’t favour it when it _does_ happen though.) “But I—” He stammered again, swallowing down some of the overwhelming guilt, “I just _stood_ there afterwards, it was like—”

"Not your fault."

"You don’t get it."

"Cap."

"No, you don’t get it." Steve rubbed at his mouth then, pressing his fingers on his eyes, knowing the stress was catching up onto him. "I just stood there. Looking back at him, doing _nothing_. While he— he was crying out, and the building was—”

"Hey, it’s your first mission since… 1920s or whatever era it was that you came from. Don’t beat yourself up because you had some PTSD episode in the middle of it. You just save New York, goddammit. You deserve a break."

"That was nearly seven months ago." Steve gave out weakly, secretly hating it that the archer would use New York to dismiss his clearly unacceptable behaviour during battle.

"Seven?" Clint replied back innocently. "It felt like it was yesterday. _Man_ , I hate Loki."

Steve silenced himself after that, dropping his shoulders and dragging his blue eyes to the scenery outside while Barton pushed on some buttons and manoeuvred them further onto the distance. The silence lingered, and Steve would’ve taken joy by it since he didn’t actually _felt_ like talking when he suddenly found himself blurting out, “Third.”

Barton paused. “What?” He frowned, “Did you say something, Cap?”

"Third," Steve repeated, whirling himself around to face the archer once again, a little agitated now. "This is my third mission out on the field. In a S.H.I.E.L.D’s op. Twice before, three months after I was defrosted. Both of the missions failed. I took a break, thought I needed to figure my life out and I got _angrier_  because I can’t, and then New York got invaded and I— I actually helped _saved_ it and I thought right after travelling around, I could come back, put on the uniform and take orders and—” He pauses, swallows. "And _now_ —"

"Now you’re back to square one?"

Steve seemingly shrunk smaller into his seat, burying his face onto his hands. “I was supposed to _lead_ men. Fight the bad guys. But I can’t even _move_.”

"You’re still in shock." Barton offered out simply, humming a little, before: "You’re not the only one, Cap."

Steve swallowed after that, felt his chest weighing heavier than it was before, and his head now pinching in with a new set of headaches. Man, he’s going to hit the gyms hard after this, isn’t he?

"Look," Barton started again, and Steve blinked once towards the other man’s way, a small part of him genuinely wanted to hear what he had in mind. "I’m not going to pretend that I know what you’re going through, because I don’t. I don’t live through a war and suddenly wake up, like, a century later. I imagine it’s hard, though. I mean, everything’s hard now. With what we’ve seen, what we’ve gone through. And I’m not here to say it’s going to get better soon or whatever, because the truth of the matter was, there’s a chance that it’s _not_ going to get better. There it is, the ugly friggin’ truth: things might not get better. Not even for you, Cap.” The archer gave out without any hesitation, his face seemingly relaxed. 

"But here’s the thing. We can’t give up. No matter how hard it is, how freaking terrible things get, we can’t give up. On ourselves, on others. ‘Cause man, the moment you _stop_ trying, things ain’t gonna look pretty.” Barton shook his head a little, pursing his lips. “And you can’t lose yourself. Don’t lose yourself. You’re angry? _Get_ angry. Punch, kick, do whatever it takes. You have the right to. You’re human, after all. You fall, you get back up. You’re sad, be sad. You’re happy, goddammit it, _laugh_. We won’t go anywhere if we keep dwelling on what’s happened or what if’s, or what might’ve been’s. Things just doesn’t work that way. Don’t give up, and don’t lose yourself. That’s what makes you stronger.” Clint grinned then, looking at Steve, pausing. “And you’re a pretty strong guy, Cap.”

Steve, surprisingly, smiled at that, nodding his head while Barton took his eyes back on the sky; the blond bit his inner cheek, pondering on the archer’s statement before willing himself to say, “Thank you.”

"Yeah, whatever. Anytime." Clint grinned again, swivelling them a little to the right. "I don't usually give pep talk, you know. They don't trust me with these stuff."

Steve takes a moment to process what he's saying, shrugging. "I think you did swell."

"Oh well then," Clint laughs, strings of throaty laughter genuinely escaping his chest. "If _Captain America_  thinks so, who am I to argue?"

Steve sighs at that, a little. "I'm much more than my title, you know." He doesn't mean to sound like he's offended from what makes it possible for him to do what he did, what he's going to do, but he's getting a little tired of people unable to separate the hero persona and the little guy from Brooklyn. Clint looks nonchalant.

"Oh, I know that." The archer continues. "Everybody knows that. That's why you're not exactly getting the special treatment." From the corner of his eyes, Steve could see Clint's secretly passing glances to the rest of the agents in the Quinjet behind them. "Don't take it personal, Cap. Everybody's gotta compare to what you do, and who you are. Sometimes you're gonna get confused yourself. But you're defining yourself by the end of the day, and the rest is just extra bullshit you have to keep up with."

"People compare you too, don't they?" Steve glances. "Hawkeye, and Clint Barton?"

The other blond smirks. "All the freaking time when they can. I don't care. Just do my best, and Sitwell won't breathe down my neck."

"Yeah," he lowly murmurs. "Do my best."

"That's the spirit," Clint answers, flying them further north. "You know, I can teach you to fly one of these things if you want to. It’s very fun."

Steve actually considered it, looking back over the Quinjet. “That would be nice.”

"Yea, I figured it’d get your mind off of things. And plus, there are some pretty sick view I’m sure you’d _love_ to see, Cap. It’s going to _blow_ your mind away, I swear.”

Steve grinned wider at that, already imagining some of it.

"Ah, wait. Hill’s on the line." Barton punched on a button, lowering them to sky below the clouds, where the storm that was hovering about ten minutes ago seemingly to disappear in the blink of an eye. He thought he heard it somewhere somewhere that the Quinjet can move extremely fast if it wanted to. "This is Q-193, may I help you ma’am?" The archer started in what Steve’d identified to be a fake 40’s southern accent.

"Where are you, Barton?" Hill’s voice came in sharp, unimpressed.

"No _good mornin’ darling_? I’m wounded in this dear heart o’ mine, oh dear Lord.” Barton grinned wider, coasting the Quinjet faster in speed. He switched to a normal accent then, chuckling a little, “About a mile out from The Fridge. Gonna be there in 20? 15? Eh. You know I’m never good with maths.”

"Right. I’ll wait on you at the launchpad. And Barton?"

"Oh yes, my dear love, oh my?" Barton mocked again in a fake 40’s accent, to which Steve could actually _feel_ Hill rolling her eyes to. 

"Tell Rogers to sit tight. I went through the reports."

Barton cringed, a little. “He’s in trouble?”

"Actually, he did really well." Hill went on, clipped. "Tell him he'll get a friggin' cookie. Just be here."

"Goodie." Barton chuckled, wiggling his brows at the Captain. "Alright, Q-193 out. See you in a bit." It was when the radio was confirmedly cut that the archer finally beamed, his eyes glinting by his set of dark shades. "Hill likes you."

Steve gave him a raised eyebrows, confused.

The other man only scrunched up his nose, appearing like he’s offended. “She never buys me cookie.”

Steve smiled again, although not really sure about the fact that the Deputy Director was favouring him anymore than anyone else seemingly already was, looking at the archer. “Thank you, Agent Barton.”

"You know what, Cap. Call me _Clint_.” The S.H.I.E.L.D agent replied, “Anybody calling me _Agent Barton_ usually means I’m in trouble.”

Steve smiled some more, just because.

(And he felt, you know, kind of better.)

**Author's Note:**

> I have this headcanon that Cap has trouble when he first starts at SHIELD, kind of like everybody undermines his ability even though he’s Captain freaking America, (c’mon okay, I imagine it’s a tougher world and people are ruder and harsher, like "pfft, _that's_ the great old Captain America? Looks like a national joke to me."), and that bothers him at some point because he starts to see that it might be true, and Clint kind of says, “nah. you’re alright.” and well, yeah. Here it is. Gah.


End file.
